The Badge
by ihadtoputitsomewhere
Summary: In episode 3x11, Stiles says that Jennifer crushed his dad's badge in her hand, and that he had to hammer it out to try and fix it. We never really got to see that happening, although I would imagine it would be pretty difficult emotionally wise. This is my take of how I think that scene, though non-existent should have gone.


**In episode 3x11, Stiles says that Jennifer crushed his dad's badge in her hand, and that he had to hammer it out to try and fix it. We never really got to see that happening, although I would imagine it would be pretty difficult emotionally wise. This is my take of how I think that scene, though non-existent should have gone.**

Stiles pulled into his driveway, still pretty shaken up after seeing his dad being taken as one of the Darach's sacrifices. He put his Jeep in park and cut the engine, but his legs felt disconnected from the rest of his body and he was unable to get out of the car. He put both hands on the steering wheel and squeezed so tight his knuckles turned white. He took a long, unsteady breath and ran his shaking hands through his hair.

In the passenger seat lay what appeared to be a crumpled up piece of tin foil. That's what it was to Jennifer, merely a piece of tin foil. She had destroyed the badge like it was nothing. But to Stiles, it was everything.

He picked up the sheriff's badge and held it in front of him, examining the deformed metal and the specs of blue and red.

"I'm sorry, Dad." Stiles whispered. "I'm gonna find you… I promise."

He shoved the driver's side door open with his shoulder and walked to his front door. Stiles pulled his keys out and went to unlock his door, but his shaking fingers wouldn't allow it.

"C'mon." Stiles said through clenched teeth. "C'mon." His chest began to tighten, as the familiar sensation of panic coursed through his body. His eyes stung and his vision blurred as hot tears got heavier and heavier. Finally, he managed to slip the key into the lock and open the door.

It swung open, revealing his living room and kitchen. Both were dark. Empty. Silent. Without his father, the Stilinski home seemed cold and dead. There was no warm glow or feeling of comfort, security, safety. Stiles was alone in the darkness.

Stiles flipped on the light in the kitchen. Everything was right where they left it, the empty coffee cup and newspaper still sitting on the kitchen table. The bowls stacked up in the sink because despite his dad's constant reminders, Stiles forgot to do the dishes.

He took the badge out of his sweatshirt pocket and set it on the counter. He looked at it for what seemed like hours, unable to think about anything except finding his dad. He had the thought that maybe when—if his dad came home, he'd want his badge to look somewhat normal, so Stiles went to the garage and came back with a hammer.

He held the badge steady with one hand, and held the hammer above his head with the other. He took a few breaths; making his cheeks puff out and back in. Stiles licked his upper lip and squeezed his eyes shut. Then, with all his might, he brought the hammer down, moving his hand just fast enough to not get smashed.

The *clink* of metal-on-metal rung in Stiles' ears. He swung again, this time a little harder.

*Clink.*

The third time, the hammer slipped from his trembling fingers and fell to the ground, bouncing a few times before settling. Stiles bent down to pick it up, and the tears that brimmed his eyes fell to the floor. He stood back up, wiped his eyes in the crook of his elbow and sniffed before resuming the task at hand.

He had made little progress, and the crushed metal now had three small chips were the hammer had collided with it. Stiles swung again, and the badge gave a little as he did so.

"Come on, just freaking flatten out already." Stiles said, his voice shaky and full of sadness and desperation.

He hit it again. "Come on." He said a little louder, his voice cutting through the silence of the house like a razor blade.

*Clink* "Come on." Almost yelling, Stiles continued to pound out the crumbled badge.

"Come on!" Stiles cried, now yelling. "Come on! Please! Co—Come on!"

He wasn't saying words anymore, just letting out cries of frustration and pain. He heard the front door open. Scott let himself in, his bike helmet tucked under his arm.

"Stiles?" Scott called out. "Stiles, where are you?"

Stiles hadn't even looked up when Scott ran into the kitchen. "Stiles?"

"I have to fix—" *clink* "I have to fix it. I have t—" *clink* "I have to fix it, Scott. *clink clink clink* Stiles held the hammer with both hands, pounding over and over onto the badge.

"What are you talking about? Fix what?" Scott asked, his voice filled with worry.

"The badge, Scott, I have to fix Dad's badge. She—she broke it; she ruined it. I have to fix it…for when he gets back." Stiles yelled. He looked up at his best friend. His eyes were almost animalistic with fear and pain and sadness. Then suddenly, as if something in him snapped, Stiles turned back to the crumpled metal and began smashing it with the hammer. Scott ran over to him, trying to grab his arms mid-swing. Stiles twisted out of his grasp.

"No! No… I have to—" Stiles cried, swinging over and over onto the badge. Tears were streaming down his face, clouding his vision and leaking into his mouth and down his neck.

"Stiles, stop! Please, just relax. It's okay. It's okay." Scott said in a voice that was almost to calm to be real. He finally managed to reach up and get a grip on the hammer before Stiles brought it down once more.

Stiles slowly moved his gaze from the badge, which was now pretty much flat, to Scott's eyes. His best friend. His brother. Scott's face was calm, sure, confident. But his eyes were filled with concern for his brother. He let go of the hammer and lowered his arms, finally regaining his sense of reality.

"He could be dead. Scott…he could—he could already be dead." Stiles was visibly shaking with desperation, looking in Scott's eyes for something to hold onto. So much pain wrapped up in one body; Stiles needed someone to take it all away. The hammer Scott was holding fell from his grip and crashed onto the floor.

"What am I gonna do Scott? If he's…dead? I'll be all alone. I can feel it already. It's like…like I'm drowning. I can't…breathe, I can't think straight, I don't know if what's happening is real or…or if this is just a nightmare that I can't wake up from. I—I count my fingers, I look at signs and books to make sure the words are actually words. I'm drowning, Scott. If Dad's really gone—" his voice broke, and his knees gave out from under him. Stiles crumpled to the floor, Scott following in suit.

Scott carefully guided Stiles so that he was leaning up against the cabinets underneath the sink. Stiles' legs were crossed at the ankles, but his knees separated, forming a diamond-like shape in the negative space. He wrapped his shaking arms around himself, trying to steady them. His breathing was uneven, shallow, quivering.

Scott sat on his knees, in front of Stiles. He carefully placed one hand on Stiles' leg.

"Stiles, listen to me. I know you're scared. Okay? I know. I am too. I'm—I'm terrified. But we can do this. We can find them. We are _going _to find them. I promise you, we will find your dad."

"What if we're too late? What if Jennifer already strangled them and slit their throats and bashed their heads in? What if Dad's already—" Stiles' breath hitched in his chest. Panic crawled through him like a thick, black slime. His vision danced with black spots and Scott's face became merely a blur of brown skin and black hair. Stiles' couldn't breathe. "Sco—" he wheezed out, before slouching further towards the floor. He felt two hands on his shoulders.

"Stiles. Stiles, hey, focus on me. Concentrate on me. We're going to get through this one together, okay?" Scott held up two fists in front of Stiles' face. "Count with me."

Stiles was looking anywhere but Scott, his eyes wide with fear, darting around the room and rolling back into his head.

"I ca—I can't." Stiles huffed out.

"Yes, you can. Look at me. Hey, Stiles, look at me. One." Scott held up one finger. Stiles stared at it; like that one finger brought back flooding memories of all the times Scott had pulled Stiles through his panic attacks. Scott knew what he was doing. Stiles trusted him.

"Two." Another finger. Stiles nodded, but was still unable to get the words out.

"Th—" Stiles stammered, gasping for air.

"Three." Scott finished for him, nodding encouragingly, holding up a third finger. "Four. Come on, buddy, you can do this. Slow it down. Like we used to, remember? Deep, slow, easy breaths. You got it."

Stiles tried, he was trying so hard. He took in a huge gulp of air.

"Good, now let it out. Slow." Scott coached. Stiles did. "Five." Another finger.

"S—six" Stiles quaked. Scott nodded and held up another finger, keeping the first five where Stiles could see them.

"Seven. You're almost there, Stiles. Keep going, come on. I'm still with you." Another finger.

"Eight." Stiles said shakily as he took in another deep breath, going slow like Scott told him to do.

"Nine." Scott nodded, throwing up another digit.

"T—ten. Ten, Scott, ten." Stiles repeated. "Ten. Ten. There's—there's ten." Scott showed Stiles his hands, where all ten fingers stood. There were ten, not eleven, and not nine.

"You did it, buddy. Look, ten. You're okay now. You're alright." Scott said with a gentle smile. Stiles threw his head back in relief and closed his eyes. Still trying to catch his breath, his body was exhausted. His mind, however, was still racing with thoughts; about his dad, about Scott, about Lydia, about his own mental well-being.

Scott moved next to Stiles, bending his legs and resting his wrists on his knees. He was wiped too, but more importantly he was scared for his best friend.

"You okay?" Scott asked softly.

Stiles gave more of a grunt than a yes, nodding his head to clarify. "I just feel like… I don't know, like I can't—" Stiles stammered.

"I know. I do too." Scott finished. "We're going to be okay though."

Stiles let out a short breath through his nose. "What about everyone else? Allison, Lydia, Isaac, Derek, your mom, my dad? What about them? What happens to them?"

Scott looked over at Stiles. "We find them. We save them. All of them."

"What if we can't?" Stiles whispered.

"We can." Scott said confidently. "We can, and we will."

Stiles leaned over, wrapping his arms around his brother and burying his head in Scott's neck. Scott didn't hesitate to return the gesture, enveloping Stiles in his arms.

"Stiles, we're going to find your dad." Scott said. Stiles nodded.


End file.
